


A little mishap with a sword

by LemmingDancer



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, Humor, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemmingDancer/pseuds/LemmingDancer
Summary: Jack and Phryne investigate when a late-night intruder disturbs the Stanley household, but all is not as it seems. A short and humorous fluff ficlet, full of the usual romantic tension and witty banter, written using the Clue (or Cluedo) prompts: Aunt Prudence, a sword, in the parlor.Originally posted on FanFiction.net in March of 2014.





	A little mishap with a sword

**Author's Note:**

> Set after season 1, very early in the relationship between our two detectives (when Jack was easier to rattle). While I was working on my long-running fic, it occurred to me that folks might enjoy these, if they hadn't seen them.

The soulless eyes of the dead were watching Jack.

"I heard an intruder, and…" Prudence Stanley trailed off. Jack glanced at where she hovered on the threshold with her son, Arthur. Her hastily donned dressing gown didn't quite conceal the frothy lace of her ankle-length night gown.

"So you telephoned Miss Fisher," Jack said, feigning annoyance. In truth, Jack couldn't think of anyone else he'd rather have at his side, if he felt threatened. Or at any other time.

"But I telephoned you," Phryne reminded him. Jack rolled his eyes at her and turned back to the crime scene.

The Stanleys' parlor had once been elegant, painted grey with a perfect balance of pale pink upholstered chairs and couches. The side tables were carved out of the same exotic wood as the moldings and the closed closet door. Jack supposed it still was richly decorated, if one could ignore the recent additions.

A menagerie of stuffed hunting trophies had overrun the room. Antelope competed for floor space with predatory cats, while game birds lined every other horizontal surface. Stag heads with enormous racks hung between tastefully unmemorable paintings, mouths agape in silent cries. All were staring at Jack glassily.

"I wondered where Mr. Stanley's trophies had gone," Phryne commented.

"I didn't want to part with them. But I'm reconsidering," Aunt Prudence said.

Jack could see why. As he edged further into the room, the dead animals' accusatory stare followed him. Stepping carefully around a boar that was glaring down a chital, Jack knelt next to the victim's body. Phryne joined him, unhooking his overcoat from the boar's tusk as she crouched.

"Decapitated," Phryne observed.

"I suspect he was well beyond caring," Jack said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The head had rolled to a stop a few feet away. Its feline features were twisted into an expression of anger, as if it knew about this last indignity.

"I liked the tiger," Arthur said mournfully.

Jack shot a "Why am I here, again?" look at Phryne, who was doing the least convincing impression of innocence he'd ever seen.

"Well, it's property damage, at the very least," Phryne answered. Her eyes sparkled with humor.

"You called me because someone beheaded a stuffed tiger," Jack summarized, disbelieving.

"Exactly!" Phryne exclaimed. Jack blinked, then shrugged, accepting the ridiculous situation as an unavoidable side effect of otherwise well-spent time in Phryne's company.

"Can you think of anyone who had a grudge?" Jack asked, half smirking.

"Well, I always imagined he and the lion were in competition," Phryne drawled.

"Oh yes," Aurthur confirmed.

Jack looked at the lion. It was menacing the settee, rearing on its hind legs with its mouth open in a toothy roar. A glint on the floor behind it caught Jack's eye. Standing, Jack went to it and used his handkerchief to pull a sword from the shadows.

"Why, it's the sword from the billiard room. You remember?" Phryne asked Jack. Her smile made Jack very glad her back was turned to the others.

Jack felt a blush bloom on his cheeks. Phryne had meant to pilfer this sword for the Marc Antony costume she'd almost talked him in to at her cousin's party. That night began with his divorce and Phryne's clever fingers undoing his tie, and where would it have ended, had Murdoch Foyle not invaded her life again? Jack shook himself and cleared his throat.

"We seem to have the murder weapon," he said blandly.

Phryne minced over to him, navigating through a collection of foxes. She wrapped her fingers around Jack's wrist, turning the hand that held the sword so she could examine it without touching it.

"Perhaps we can get finger marks?" she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Erhm," Jack said. He hadn't heard her question above the sudden rushing in his ears. She stood so close he could have leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss. If her aunt wasn't standing in the hallway, Jack might have.

"Surely that won't be necessary," Mrs. Stanley protested.

Something rattled in the closet. Before Jack could even twitch, Phryne had darted between him and the sound, her pistol appearing in her hand. Taking a better grip on the sword, Jack shouldered up to her side.

Scratch scratch.

Perfectly in step, the two detectives approached the closed door.

Bump. Scratch.

Reaching for the door knob, Jack exchanged a look with Phryne. She nodded. Jack yanked open the door and jumped back, brandishing his sword.

"Nibbles!" Arthur exclaimed. A rumpled orange tabby bolted out of the closet and skittered away without a backwards glance.

"And there's our intruder," Phryne laughed. Jack shakily lowered his sword. He smiled at Phryne, but she had focused on something behind him. She suddenly stepped up to Jack, leaning on his chest with a wicked grin. Jack froze as she pressed one hand to his shoulder and wrapped the other arm around him. She backed away just as abruptly, waving a little flag of delicate fabric.

"It seems our tiger murderer has a penchant for lace," Phryne said, holding out the evidence she'd found caught on a rhino's horn hanging beside the closet. Her aunt fidgeted with her robe, but not before Jack saw a ragged tear in the hemline.

"Not pursuing property damages, then?" Jack asked, when he found his voice. He schooled his face into an echo of Phryne's wide-eyed innocence.

"I tell you, I heard an intruder and I was prepared to defend myself," Mrs. Stanley said, defiantly tilting her chin. She bustled away, pulling Arthur with her.

Jack looked back at Phryne. She was smiling at him in a way that made Jack hope he might yet find out how a night that began with her unknotting his tie would end.


End file.
